Beautiful Eyes
by payroo
Summary: Post-game. During a parade procession in Redcliffe, a certain widow asks a rather difficult question. A bit of Zevran/M!Surana, Alistair/Anora, and some speculation about the Ferelden Wardens' future.


It was an uncommonly beautiful day in Redcliffe Village: the lake waters gently rippling in the balmy air, sun gently pulsing over their heads. As fine a day as any for this somewhat ridiculous parade.

Alim waved and smiled politely, bearing the formalities much better than the grumbling Alistair besides him. Zevran, on his other side, was twitchy, nervous, eyes constantly darting to and fro watching for assassins as usual.

"Do cheer up, _dear_," Anora reprimanded her new husband. Gentle with a touch of iron. "We should be glad to have something to celebrate."

"Yes, yes, I know," the newly minted King of Ferelden sighed. "I suppose it's better than battling darkspawn, anyhow. Right, Alim?"

The elven mage smiled, glad to be on friendly terms again with Alistair. It had taken him some time after the Landsmeet to forgive making Loghain a Grey Warden. But that action had spared them all, and Alistair was wiser now. He would never forget, of course, but at least the easy rapport of their travelling days had been restored to an extent.

Zevran grabbed his elbow abruptly. "Coming from four o' clock, there's a woman running up," he whispered in his ear. "She doesn't look dangerous, but best be on your guard."

The woman had indeed fought her way through the throngs, clutching an infant in her arms, no less. "Ser Grey Warden, if I may ask a question?"

Alim gave her his diplomatic smile and nodded. She had beautiful eyes, lined with thick lashes, but dark circles of sadness shadowed them. He had an unpleasant feeling what this was about.

"All the other widows of men at Ostagar," she began, nervously fidgeting with her baby's blankets, "all of them got records, recognition, tokens sent back. But I never heard a word from my Jory after he left for the Wardens. So I was wondering if you knew him, if he's… if he's still…"

There was a glimmer of hope in her eyes, her raised eyebrows. Alim felt the back of his throat close as Alistair shot him a surprised glance.

"You are Helena, yes? Ser Jory spoke often of you," Alim said gently.

Already he could see the last vestiges of hope beginning to crumple and die within her. "I'm sorry," he continued. "Ser Jory fought and died as a Grey Warden, a hero alongside many other heroes at Ostagar. You must have never received notice, as… as he was just newly a Warden, so the paperwork…" he lamely trailed off, as she evidently wasn't listening anymore, tears pouring from her lovely eyes.

"Thank you, ser. I suppose it's better to know, after waiting so long, hoping that _maybe_…"

"Are you managing all right on your own?" Alistair broke in, looking pained. "You must not have received the widow's stipend if the… paperwork never went through. I can look into it for you."

"You are too kind, your majesty, but I will manage." With a tight little smile, Helena ducked her head and disappeared into the crowd.

Alistair and Alim traded uneasy looks as Zevran raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "What was that all about?"

"Jory… was one of the recruits in my Joining. He didn't even get to test himself against the taint; he was gutted like a pig for Duncan himself for trying to resist." Alim admitted, with a sigh. The sun seemed dimmer all of a sudden.

"You handled that quite well, I thought," Alistair assured him. "If only I could think half as fast as you…"

"Don't worry, you're improving day by day, Alistair," Anora said with a rare small smile. Alistair's ears turned red and he mumbled something about having to go greet his subjects in front or some such.

"You still look rather grim," Zevran remarked, studying Alim's face.

"It's just… I'm not sure I can bring myself to do what Duncan did," he frowned. "Now that we're rebuilding the Grey Wardens, I know I'll have to eventually, but it's the secrecy I hate. The lies and such that we have to resort to for recruits."

"I suppose I could always help you handle the dirty work," Zevran incorrigibly looped an arm around the Warden's waist. "It certainly won't be easy," he said, more seriously, "but it is necessary, no?"

"That's the thing," Alim said in an undertone, as Anora appeared to be far too interested in their conversation. "I wonder if we can't be honest and open about the whole matter. The ones who aren't willing to pay the price probably won't survive the Joining or even get to see it anyhow… what's the point of gathering them up only to cut them down with our own hands?"

"Well, why don't you then?" Zevran patted the Warden's shoulder. "You're the leader of the Wardens in Ferelden now. You can do whatever you damn well please, no?"

"I suppose I could," he mused, "if I wanted all the other Wardens of Thedas to murder me in my sleep."

"Then it's a good thing you've an assassin as loyal sidekick, yes?"

Alim laughs, at last. "True, there is that."


End file.
